


wild geese

by problematick



Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Domestic, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e05 Stardust City Rag, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, I promise it gets better, Slow Build, Space Wives, if by fix it you mean at minimum acknowledge kathryn's existence in the picard universe/seven's life, look they've both been through a lot okay, one of them has a mild panic attack, they're inevitable (like a trainwreck; like a sunset; like a star going supernova)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematick/pseuds/problematick
Summary: Seven didn’t really think about her destination, once she shot her way out of the bar and off of Freecloud. She didn’t regenerate, either, she just… went. She slept and woke in her pilot’s chair, pausing only to consume yet another flavorless ration bar, her movements nearly an extension of the ship running on autopilot to its heading. After days at high warp, she found herself arriving at what felt like the only possible destination there was.[Set immediately post-Stardust City Rag.]
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Seven of Nine
Comments: 63
Kudos: 186





	wild geese

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to a work titled for and centered around [one of mary oliver's best (and most famous) poems](https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/09/24/mary-oliver-reads-wild-geese/), because I am nothing if not a helplessly gay disaster who will use poetry as a medium for these two until the end of time. originally I thought this fic would only be a couple thousand words (lmao); instead it became a four month, 10k labor of love. 
> 
> please note that this work does address some of seven's canonical traumas and touches on a character death. canon-compliant through episode five of star trek: picard.
> 
> lastly, I must give an absolutely massive shoutout to liz, patrick, and ava, who I thank for all their editing, inspiration and encouragement. this story would not be what it is without their help, for which I am eternally grateful. 
> 
> enjoy. <3

Seven didn’t really think about her destination, once she shot her way out of the bar and off of Freecloud. She didn’t regenerate, either, she just… went. She slept and woke in her pilot’s chair, pausing only to consume yet another flavorless ration bar, her movements nearly an extension of the ship running on autopilot to its heading. After days at high warp, she found herself arriving at what felt like the only possible destination there was. Seven landed her corsair planetside, near a cliff edge that stared into the Atlantic, and transported herself directly inside the building perched on the rocky outcrop.

A figure half-startled, then rose slowly from a cushy recliner in front of a crackling, traditionalist fire in the hearth. Kathryn Janeway’s book and throw blanket slipped from her grasp to the ottoman as she stood to face the woman who’d just appeared unannounced in the middle of her family’s seaside cottage. 

Her voice was as husky and warm as ever.

“Seven.” 

It felt like home. 

She closed her eyes. “Kathryn, please call me by my human name.”

Janeway’s eyebrows rose, and she startled just a touch again. “I—of course, but I thought you said a long time ago that you preferred me to address you as Seven of Nine.”

Seven could not open her eyes. Not yet. She inhaled slowly, deeply, then sighed out the breath, groping for the comforting mantra of an old Vulcan voice in her mind. “I know. We did. I do. But I just—” 

_I have to hear someone else say it. She can't be the last one who held my name in her mouth, she can't_ —

She opened her eyes, prepared and unprepared all at once for the look on Janeway’s face. Still so patently laid bare, hope and tenderness written out in the furrow of her brows and line of her mouth. Always so achingly fond. “I need to hear you say it.” _It has to be you._ “Please.”

“Of course, Annika,” Kathryn said, closing the distance between them to grasp at her bicep, a muscle memory reflex for them both. Her hand was as comforting as ever, and when she offered a gentle squeeze, something coiled tight inside Seven finally went slack.

She was reasonably certain that any of her old crewmates would have done it, if she asked, but she did not want to ask them. Not least because to see any of them would be to admit she had run from what was left of her kin. (A bitter, strident voice among the many in her head muttered that a scattered collective was no collective at all, but the words fell flat.) She knew her fellow Rangers would call her whatever she designated herself. They were efficient like that. 

But Seven was also reasonably certain there was only one person in the entire universe who could make that name sound like a fulfilled promise, like a single, pleasant ringing note, like _the truth_ and not something merely thrust upon her to skirt her Borg nature. And it sounded like that because it was said with love, the most frustrating emotion of them all. 

Because Jay’s words had been as carefully selected as a surgeon’s laser scalpel, wielded to cause the most damage possible, and every utterance had found its mark. Her name had struck the deepest, because Seven thought, _before, at least, that she might have_ — _at least once_ —and it was, in hindsight, so obviously all a lie. 

Bjayzel used those syllables as weapons, with deadly accuracy. She made Seven regret ever telling her a single thing about herself; made her regret every social lesson that encouraged her to divulge personal information for the sake of small talk; made her regret ever trying to achieve her so-called true humanity, and what it had cost her.

Yet here she stood, bloodied both emotionally and physically, in the living room of a 21st-century cottage in Doolin, Ireland, and with three words, the psychic wounds faded as if by nanoprobe programming. 

She looked down into Kathryn’s face, felt the warmth of her body as it pressed close to her own, always so tactile, so openly affectionate, just the same as ever. It was all the same Janeway she had always been. Seven gazed into those blue eyes and found them steady, sparkling and bright.

“Say it again, please.”

Kathryn’s lips curled into that little half-grin Seven had seen so many times before. 

“Annika.” 

The burr of her voice wrapped around Seven like a winter coat, insulating from the cold that had been threatening to seep into her chest since the moment she finally pulled the trigger. 

She opened her mouth, but Kathryn jumped in, her other hand coming to grip Seven’s arm much like the first, grounding and solid and immediate, her palms feeling at the biceps beneath the jacket’s leathered exterior. 

“I’m happy to indulge you for however long you’d like, Annika, but can I at least get you to shed the boots and let me take a look at that cut on your cheek first?” she asked, peering at the half-healed slash beneath Seven’s right eye. 

She closed her mouth and merely nodded, speechless at the way her internal temperature spiked at the hand that reached up to grip her chin and turn her head, as Janeway tsked at the damage she saw. Kathryn led her to the couch, gently pushed her onto it, then made several passes about the room.

The first deposited a tumbler of whiskey into Seven’s hand, “Bushmills 21-year,” she said, setting the half full bottle and an empty glass on the coffee table. “It was casked the day after we landed back on Earth.” The second detoured to lay a freshly minted medkit upon the cushion next to Seven, and the third whisked away her jacket and boots to the mudroom she had declined to enter through. 

Janeway settled next to her, poured three fingers into her glass and popped open the kit, giving her a brief scan with a sleek tricorder. “You and your nanoprobes certainly have been busy,” she said lightly, trading her drink for a dermal regenerator and starting on Seven’s face. 

“You are angry because of how long it has been since we have last spoken.” 

To her credit, Kathryn did not so much as blink in response to Seven’s words. The medkit chirped from the seat, announcing a completed diagnostic and a hypospray loaded with appropriate treatment. But her hands lingered near Seven’s neck, the grip back on her chin with one hand and the other’s knuckles pressed against the skin where the ex-drone could feel her heartbeat fluttering in her neck as her heart rate increased. 

“Not anymore,” Kathryn said, glancing down to pick up the regenerator once again, turning Seven’s cheek toward her as she knelt on the couch at Seven’s right. “Plus,” she said, eyes focused on the work of knitting the skin over Seven’s cheekbone back to normal, “you could’ve gone anywhere to get patched up, but instead you chose to come here.” 

The hum of the instrument stopped as Kathryn’s hands fell away from Seven, who briefly felt a pang at the lost contact. Then she lifted a hand again, and rubbed her thumb over the newly regenerated skin, cupping Seven’s cheek in the process. “Good as new.” 

For a long moment, neither of them moved, until Seven lifted her hand to grasp Janeway’s wrist gently, anchoring it to herself and leaning into the contact with a sigh. 

_No, I don't think I am,_ Seven thought. 

_But maybe I could be_. 

The sudden bolt of optimism took her by surprise. It had sprung, unbidden, to her mind, and now she could think of nothing else, lost in the comfort of this simple touch. And instead of fighting it, she acquiesced, succumbing to Janeway’s will for the tenth, hundredth, thousandth time and completely unable to regret it. 

Seven nearly sagged with relief, at the unspoken permission to let it go, let it all go. Jay, Icheb, the last silent decade looming between them, guilt, grief, rage, regret—all of it. A thumb swiped across Seven’s cheek again softly and her eyes fluttered closed against the undercurrent in Kathryn’s touch, which would probably be more accurately defined as a caress. 

She did not open her eyes before she asked, “What were you reading?”

“Before you barged in here in search of a philosophical debate?” Kathryn asked dryly, rising to retrieve the book and the blanket from the ottoman and offering it to Seven. “A poetry collection by Mary Oliver called _Devotions_. It’s an—”

“Old Earth text, I’m sure,” Seven said, appraising first its hardback exterior, then the contents.

Kathryn paused before she retook her seat, hovering above Seven, indignance splashed across her features. One hand rose to a hip. “I hope that’s not a comment about my predictability.” 

“I can assure you, Kathryn, you have always continued to surprise me.” Seven finally knocked back the glass of whiskey in her hand; Kathryn refilled it without comment. “What moral dilemma is at the heart of this one?” She offered the book back, watching Kathryn’s hand slowly grasp the tome. Seven wondered, briefly, if the burn unfurling in her chest was from the liquor or something else entirely. 

“Think you’re funny, do you?” Kathryn half-growled, sitting back down in a huff. “I’ll have you know it’s about nature and spirituality. About how all things connect to one another, and finding solace in those small things which anchor us to reality. Consider it an attempt to answer an eternal human question: how are we to live our lives? Look, where I was before,” she said, fingers sliding over the paper, rasping against the delicate pages carefully, reverently. Definitely a caress. Seven’s mouth went dry as Kathryn began to recite from the page. 

_“‘You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.’”_

The words left her lightheaded, feeling flayed open like a disassembled power conduit. She tore her eyes from Kathryn’s mouth and down to the alcohol clutched in her hand, searching for equilibrium once again. She sipped at her whiskey this time, savoring the depth of flavor and analyzing the notes while Kathryn continued to read aloud. 

Toffee, fruit, and honey lingered on her tongue as Janeway’s voice floated to her ears, speaking of landscapes, and waterfowl, and belonging. But even as her eyes drew closed, Seven felt a ping of irritation at herself: _why the hell did I wait twenty-five years to have Kathryn read to me?_

Seven woke with a start to find her legs in Kathryn's lap, nestled under the throw and the gentle weight of forearms, the spine of the book cradled in her hand.

"Captain, I—"  
  
"Have clearly been running yourself ragged, yes, I noticed," Kathryn said, glancing at her as she turned the page, utterly nonchalant. Seven shifted, attempting to get up.  
  
"But—"  
  
Kathryn's hand found an ankle through the blanket and squeezed. Despite the layers, Seven felt every millimeter of contact, of warmth.  
  
"I'm comfortable, and so is she," she said with a nod at the furry little being curled up with a nose tucked beneath tail, wedged between Seven's hip and the couch atop the blanket. "Do us a favor and stay put, hmm?"

Her brow furrowed, but exhaustion tugged at her. It felt as if Earth’s gravity had suddenly increased. Yet Kathryn was stroking the inside of her calf, and just as suddenly she felt weightless. Kathryn forestalled any further protests with one gracefully lifted hand, book abandoned on Seven’s shins. 

“You've only been asleep for half an hour, and I don't have much book left. I promise I'll wake you soon, Annika.”

The name washed over her again, like a tide coming ashore—gentle, constant, inexorable. Mollified enough, Seven stretched, arching her back and flexing her toes. As she relaxed, she realized the grip on her leg had found its way to her knee and had curled possessively around it. When she saw the faint blush on Kathryn’s face, she allowed herself a smirk that grew wider at the little cough Janeway cleared her throat with. 

"Very well, Kathryn,” Seven murmured, eyes sliding closed once more. “If you insist.”

Soon came around noon, as it turned out. Seven’s eyes went wide to realize it. “I—didn’t stop to check the local time,” she managed, blinking owlishly at the sunshine streaming in through the large picture windows lining the room. She cast aside the blanket and drew herself slowly to her feet, observing her surroundings for essentially the first time. 

During her single-minded approach, Seven had barely spared a passing glance to the details of Kathryn’s location; now, in the midday light, she viewed the expansive, rugged countryside beyond the cottage walls. To the east there lay undulating verdant hills, speckled with rock formations and, distantly, grazing sheep. To the west lay cliffs, the terminus of the eastern hills, edged with a winding stone path stretching into the distance. Beyond that yawned a great and glorious absence below which lay an ocean, galactic blue, punctuated and re-punctuated by the silver of its waves.

“That’s what happens when you start drinking at nine-thirty in the morning, but it looked like you needed it,” Kathryn said. “Come on.” 

She ushered Seven down the hallway into a bedroom suite, pointing at the attached bathroom. “There’s a hydro shower, sonic settings if you prefer, and several therapeutic steam options I must recommend. There’s also a replicator, but feel free to borrow anything in the dressers too. I’ll get us something to eat.”

Seven tried three of the steam options before she found one she liked, and finished with a sonic buzz to shake the feeling of damp implants. She recycled her clothes but set them aside in exchange for sturdy cotton canvas pants from the replicator and a sweater from the drawer. She drew the garment over her head and ran her hands over the soft, navy blue wool and the texture of the intricate cable knit pattern.

To her surprise, the dog met her at the door, who had been waiting for her in the hallway, it seemed. With a wag of her white tail and a nuzzle to her Borg hand, the creature led the way back through the living room into the kitchen, finding Janeway pouring coffee at the nook tucked beneath another stunning view of the ocean. She glanced up between mugs, smile tugged a little wider at the sight of Seven in the borrowed clothing. 

“Better?”

“Yes,” Seven replied, hovering in the doorway until she felt a nudge at her knee. She glanced down to see the canine face lifted toward hers. The animal nudged again at Seven’s leg, then trotted forward to her bowls, stationed below the replicator. “I am… unsure how to thank you for your hospitality.” 

The dog sat at one gesture from Kathryn, who rewarded her with a head rub and a familiar tap of fingers into the machine to produce her breakfast. She turned from the main shelf with a serving dish laden with a traditional American breakfast spread in her hands, nodding toward the table. “You can thank me by helping me eat some of this. I need to reprogram what it considers a single serving, apparently. Please, sit.” 

Seven complied, and found herself with a lapful of beggar’s puppy eyes as she lifted the first bite to her lips. She cocked her head, noting with some amusement the hopeful tail wag that began to sweep at the wood floor. Kathryn, unfazed, tucked into her sausage and eggs, sipping at her coffee before observing the standoff across the table. 

She clucked her teeth and whistled sharply, and the creature obediently hurried to Kathryn’s side, wiggling innocently beneath narrow-eyed scrutiny. “I apologize for her rudeness; she knows better than that.” The next tail thump was unrepentant, but the dog did not try begging again. 

“What is her designation?”

“Her name is Shannon.”

The name plucked at her memories, of a time long past spent swapping stories and laughter in Janeway’s quarters. “Like your ancestor?” 

Kathryn nodded, a smile blooming as she tapped at the rim of her cup. “It’s such a stout, Irish name, too. It felt apt.” She wiggled her fingers in front of the dog’s face, who swiped a lazy paw at her in return once, twice, before Kathryn caught it in her hand and shook it. 

“You know when I found her she was just a shivering lump under a bush, out on the path by the cliffside. Patchy, raggedy little scamp, way out in the wilderness, all alone. Full of attitude, though. I thought she was a mutt until her coat really started to come in. Turns out she’s a purebred. What are the odds?”

Seven detected a sly note in Kathryn’s voice, and it was enough to make her pause. Fork halted halfway to her mouth, her ocular implant rose. “You’re implying something about me?”

Kathryn shrugged, sipping at her coffee. “Could be about Tom.”

She gave Kathryn an appraising look. “I see. And you could not determine her origin?” Janeway shook her head, looking fondly at her furred companion. 

"No. No one was missing a dog for miles, no breeders had notices for missing pups, it's—" Kathyrn paused, fingers curling around one soft ear. "It's almost as if she sprang from the countryside itself."

"Highly unlikely."  
  
"As unlikely as finding myself in the Delta Quadrant and all the things that came of it, I imagine."

The look that Kathryn leveled at her wasn’t challenging, per se, but it was charged enough to make Seven swallow hard, though she didn’t shy away from meeting her eyes. 

Seven thought of all the staggering improbabilities that brought her to this moment; of the confluence of one ill-fated research vessel, Borg cubes, and this woman who had so fearlessly outsmarted the Collective; of who she might be, but for _Voyager_ —or rather, what life as a mindless drone she might still be condemned to, what ruthless atrocities she might have committed by now in the name of brutal, relentless assimilation.

“Then it is fortunate for her you came along. Who knows what might have become of her, if you hadn’t found her when you did.” 

At this she dropped her gaze to the creature, and offered a hand, palm up. Shannon sprang to Seven, eternally hopeful for even a crumb of bacon. The animal’s enthusiasm teased a soft chuckle out of her before she emulated Kathryn’s whistle and sit gesture. Shannon promptly sat down at her side. “Good dog,” Seven praised, reaching for her coffee.

“Traitor,” Kathryn muttered, entirely failing to look annoyed and managing something more like indulgent instead.

Seven proceeded to let Kathryn steer her through the rest of the day without complaint. After their meal came a long, quiet hike along the cliffs, punctuated by waves crashing against the rocks below and Shannon’s strident barks as she raced up and down the paths, a red and white blur. The setting sun and dropping temperatures finally hustled them inside, retreating to the den with whiskeys in hand once more. 

Shannon bounced between them, still full of playful energy. Kathryn flashed Seven a grin and then, with an air of presentation, put the dog through her paces, showing off a varying array of tricks. Seven was impressed by how attentively she followed commands, how quickly she leapt to obey, and the complexity of tasks asked of her. She felt her eyebrows shoot for her hairline after observing the dog utilize an interactive panel on the wall, effectively communicating in full sentences to Janeway. 

Seven allowed herself to look as impressed as she felt when she turned to her master—who, she noticed, looked thoroughly pleased with herself as she sauntered back to the couch. 

“It seems Shannon is an exceedingly intelligent creature,” Seven said. “And impeccably trained. You called her a purebred?”

"An Irish Red and White Setter," Kathryn said, sitting so she could stroke a hand through soft, glossy fur, fingers drifting through auburn and white.  
  
"An accurate and descriptive name, if inefficiently long," she remarked, reaching over to do the same. Shannon circled once, then lay down over Seven’s feet. Her body heaved a pleased sort of sigh through her nose, then the dog settled for a nap.  
  
"She likes you."

Seven looked back to Kathryn, sat almost shoulder to shoulder with her, and smiled. “I certainly hope so. I suspect she is similarly trained in a tactical manner, so I don’t envy anybody she considers a threat to you. I would think it a miserable experience.”

Kathryn bit her bottom lip, unable to restrain a laugh when she replied, “Well, that _would_ explain why she gives the Doctor such a hard time when he comes to call.”

“She’s a formidable companion. Is she genetically enhanced? You speak to her like any other sentient humanoid when issuing commands, but I thought canines were suited to much shorter instructions.” 

“No, she’s just a very smart individual who listens when she feels like it.”

Seven pointed with the hand holding her whiskey. “Now you’re definitely implying something about me.” 

Janeway lifted a finger in protest. “Or B’Elanna.” 

Seven arched a brow, and Kathryn’s ‘innocent’ face wobbled, then locked into place, though her eyes danced with mirth. 

“B’Elanna doesn’t have freckles,” Seven finally said, leaning down to the dog and rubbing her hand softly over the rust-colored spots on her snout, Shannon’s tail thumping softly at the attention. “In that way she is most like her mother, of anyone who resided on _Voyager_ , is she not?” 

Kathryn’s smile was slow to take over the faint surprise that colored her face, but the sight of it made Seven’s chest feel light. “Oh?”

“She is regal, confident, and tenacious. Energetic and charming, possessed of a great intelligence, and a unique attitude,” she said, feeling her body angle itself toward Kathryn, drawn to her like being locked into orbit. Her gaze dropped to Kathryn’s face, and the faint splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “And freckles. I don’t know anyone else on board she could be.” 

“Remind me to show you our holo-frisbee routine tomorrow,” Kathryn murmured, voice lost to her husky register. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, just a flash of pink. 

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow? What about tonight? She wants me here. She anticipates that I would stay. And she keeps looking at me like she_ —

The indescribable pull that had drawn her here stumbled to a halt, its source laid before her. With sudden clarity, she knew the answer to a problem long unsolved, like the inevitable solution to a long and complex equation finally calculated to completion.

_...oh. Well, that explains a few things._

Certainty as to what would come next coalesced, and for the first time since she landed she moved with absolute surety. _At least now I know how to do this._

Seven met Kathryn’s eyes, then brought the whiskey to her lips. She downed the glass, relieved Kathryn of hers, and set them both aside. She returned to her lean, hovering only inches away from Janeway, head canted invitingly to one side. “Tomorrow?”

“I—yes, tomorrow, I wanted—I mean, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, but—”

She lifted a hand to Janeway’s face, thumb running along that proud jaw. Kathryn’s words stuttered to a halt. Seven’s eyes roamed over her face, lingering on her mouth and the almost pained furrow of her brow. 

“I did not understand what I wanted from you for a very long time,” Seven said, a hint of a smile about her lips. “You were like an incomplete equation I couldn’t solve. It infuriated me. Even attempting to account for you as an independent variable left me frustrated. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

Kathryn’s response was a raspy whisper. “Do you know now?” 

Her fingers slid along Kathryn’s neck until they cradled the base of her head, tangled in silver-streaked auburn hair. Her answer was confident, assured, buoyed by the feeling of Kathryn’s pulse beating wildly beneath her palm. 

“Yes, I do.”

Seven kissed her, and the culmination of the desperate ache that had clawed at her for two decades was, in a word, perfection.

It was warm, and soft, and Kathryn moaned, just a little, in the back of her throat. Seven was stunned at the shock that ran through her when she heard it. She pulled Kathryn closer on instinct, fingers tightening in her hair. At that, Kathryn flat out whimpered and threw an arm around her neck, parting her lips and going lax in Seven’s arms. 

The only thing Seven could think was _more_ , and she pressed deeper, her tongue finding Kathryn’s. It felt as if every neuron in her body were on fire, racing through her in a sear that burned white hot. 

She dragged her lips to one ear, nails gently scraping over the scalp beneath her hand. Seven allowed a smile at the shiver it caused, curious to know if a question would cause another. “Do you know what it is that I want, Kathryn?” 

Kathryn dipped her head to seal a kiss to Seven’s neck, puffing out a hot breath that tickled the shell of her ear. The sensation made her jerk, but she was wholly unprepared for the silky purr of Kathryn’s reply as she murmured it against Seven’s skin, an obvious smile in her voice. 

“I think I have an idea, but why don’t you give me another hint?” 

A shiver of her own ran through her, strong enough that she was certain Kathryn had felt it. _How does she do that? How does her voice always do that to me?_ Seven’s only answer to the question was to take Kathryn’s earlobe between her teeth and nibble, uninterested in further banter for the moment. It made Kathryn gasp and clutch at her and vocalize in colorful groans and sighs that left Seven little choice but to kiss her again. 

Their embrace lingered a little, then lingered more, hands drifting slowly to match the pace of exchanged murmurs and smiles, stolen between long moments of their mouths moving against one another, one kiss melding into another. Kathryn stole a hand along the sweater’s hem and then boldly up over Seven’s ribs, the arm around her neck graduating to a hand in her hair, fingers trailing through her wavy locks. 

At the first brush of fingertips along her skin, Seven inhaled sharply. Kathryn’s hand sliding over her stomach felt just plain hungry, trustworthy to Seven because Kathryn’s penchant for touch had always betrayed her truth. But still an edge of panic rose at warmth gliding along bands of metal implants, frantic and wild and _wrong,_ with Seven unable to shake the memory of someone else’s hands seeking out every mottled inch of her skin. 

(Because—when she’d done this before, she thought she had finally found someone who wasn’t repelled by her, by her physiology. She heard that honeyed voice like a sibilant hiss between her ears, insidious and still clawing at the name she never should have given over, trying to tarnish it, even from beyond the grave. Lingering, whispering, seeping in at the edges of her conscience; the prickling of knowing, acutely, just how wrong she had been.)

The sudden staccato beat of her heart read to Seven the same as the arousal flushing through her system, except with a little flutter that followed, an inkling of dread that tightened up her throat and made her clutch at Kathryn just a fraction too tightly. She closed her eyes against the phantom touch ghosting over all the ridges of her implants and rolled a shoulder, diving in for another desperate kiss. But Kathryn pulled back, her hand sliding out of Seven’s shirt. 

“You alright?” came the concerned murmur, still rough with want, with a need that abruptly felt very distant, to Seven. She wanted it back, wanted this unsettling pool of nausea to recede, and reached for Kathryn again. 

“I’m fine.” 

But Kathryn would not allow herself to be caught, putting them at arm’s length to look at her. “No, you’re not, and you don’t have to power through on my behalf. What is it?” 

“Nothing is wrong—” except she couldn’t catch her breath, still panting even when Kathryn’s breathing had returned to normal. Kathryn took her face in both hands and spoke in a voice ringing with authority. 

“Look at me,” she ordered. Seven was powerless to resist, groping for control and clinging to the familiar, demanding tone that left no room for disobedience.

“Listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice.” Kathryn spoke deliberately, the command edge softened, but still present. 

“Breathe in, slowly. Follow me,” she said, inhaling through her nose. Seven followed, haltingly, and Kathryn gave her an encouraging little nod. “Good. Hold… and out. In again, hold… and out.” 

Kathryn walked them through five more cycles before she finally dropped a hand from her face, seeking out Seven’s hand to squeeze. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or do you need something else right now?” 

Seven gathered herself, stumbling over the urge to shove the emotion away, to regulate it and suppress it like the voices of the collective which would never leave her. The instinct to run reared, but it could not surmount the calm patience Janeway exuded. She knew, somehow, that Kathryn would wait for as long as she needed. She blinked a few times, jaw working as she tried to articulate the experience, an edge of exasperation in her tone. 

“I don’t know, I just felt—the way my body responded to you was exhilarating, until suddenly it wasn’t.” She closed her eyes. “I was breathless, my heart was pounding. But it became unpleasant without my noticing.” She turned to Janeway, a frown furrowing her brow. “How did you know?” 

Kathryn smiled a little, clearly trying not to appear too knowing as she cast an affectionate look at her. “You have a tell, when you’re uncomfortable. A little hitch with your shoulder, as if you’re physically shrugging something off. There’s always something bothering you, when you do that. It was one of the first things I noticed about you, when you were becoming an individual again.” 

Seven stared wordlessly, feeling seen—seen completely, seen _through_ completely—for the first time in years. Her eyes searched Kathryn’s face, and found that she could read every line, every angle of eyebrow and curve of her lip.

_‘Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.'_

Seven could see plainly what was behind those open, hopeful eyes. It was honest and true, and it invited her closer, beckoning like an outstretched hand. 

A memory came to her like an echo down a long corridor, repeating and mingling with the stanzas Kathryn had recited to her this morning. (Was it only this morning?) Another time, another husky whisper, another moment of this woman knowing her better than she knew herself— 

_“All I’m asking... is that you trust me again.”_

Another leap of faith. 

Seven took in a shaky breath. 

“Do you remember the woman I told you was the cause of Icheb’s death? Bjayzel?”

A flash of flinty recognition crossed Kathryn’s face. “Yes, I recall,” she said coolly. 

“When I stopped speaking to you, it was because—I decided I was going to kill her. Myself. Not bring her in, or turn her in to any authorities. It’s not like the Federation has been holding anyone to task for doing whatever they feel like to ex-drones. But I knew you would try to talk me out of it. I knew you wouldn’t approve of murder as revenge.”

Kathryn was solemn, nodding. “You’re right, I would have tried to stop you.” 

“But she—” Seven choked on the words, then let out a frustrated breath. “I had to. _I had to_. Because it was my fault. She shared my bed and I told her about _Voyager_ , about my family, and—I told her everything, because I thought she cared. Icheb died, horribly, because of me.”

She clenched her jaw, feeling tears escape as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I had gotten in late from a Ranger mission, and was going to meet him later that day. I told her as much when I crawled into bed for a few hours of sleep. That’s how she knew he was on leave,” she sniffed, silent tears finally slowing on her cheeks. 

“Oh, Annika,” Kathryn sighed, holding Seven’s hand between both of her own. Cool metal fingers lay clasped between those palms, a thumb stroking at the inside of her wrist. 

She barked out a mirthless laugh. “You know, that’s what she said, too. She kissed me and said, ‘oh, Annika,’ and left. A few hours later I had to put him out of his misery myself, after he’d been tortured. They stripped him down like a machine for parts in the name of extracting Borg technology for profit. He suffered at the hands of that butcher because of me.” 

Kathryn lifted a hand and wiped away Seven’s tears gently, allowing several quiet moments to pass before she spoke. “That’s what you waited a decade to tell me?” 

Seven looked at their clasped hands, unable to meet her eyes. “Until this morning, it had been ten years, three months, one week, twelve hours and fourteen minutes since our last communication. It took me that long to find her and do what needed to be done. Icheb has been avenged.” She looked up, as meekly as she ever could. “I was not worthy of you until it was finished.”

“You are worthy,” Kathryn admonished fiercely, catching Seven with a grip on her chin, lifting until she raised her head high once more. “Icheb was not your fault. Honesty was not your fault. Trusting someone is not a fault. Betrayal of that trust is.” 

The stony expression reappeared on Kathryn’s face as a muscle in her jaw jumped, before she closed her eyes and released the tension in her shoulders with one long exhale. “The Doctor tells me letting things go is good for my blood pressure, but all things considered… if you had told me back then exactly how this happened, I would’ve killed that bitch myself.”

Seven felt her surprise take over her face, taken aback at the protective snarl in Kathryn’s voice. Its rumble made her feel as if she had swallowed a flaming coal, chest alight with an ember burning red behind her sternum. She measured the feeling again, careful to take stock, but—no, there was no panic. It simply smoldered, thrumming with the knowledge that Kathryn would— _for Icheb_ —

 _For_ **_me_** _._

Kathryn’s voice was thick with emotion, low and rough as she looked Seven in the eye. “You have always been worthy, Annika. Far more than worthy enough for me. You still are. I hope you know that.” 

The coal cracked, and something hot and fierce broke open inside Seven’s chest. 

She surged forward for another kiss, and with a small, breathy, “ _oh_ ,” Kathryn happily melted into the embrace. Seven could not help but nip at Kathryn’s lips, her teeth catching bottom lip, then the top, peppering a series of small kisses against a willing, pliable mouth. She teased at the seam of Kathryn’s lips with her tongue, delicately stroking her way inside against the vibrating hum of Kathryn’s soft moans. 

The sounds Kathryn made sent heated bolts of pleasure to the juncture between Seven’s legs with every throaty gasp and sigh. She inhaled slowly, still leisurely mapping the orchestra of Kathryn’s reactions to her kisses of varied intensity, and caught on her scent, grown warm with musk and need. Janeway’s intoxicating presence enveloped her entirely, and she let herself indulge the urge to slake her thirst. The way Kathryn reacted to a mere stroke of Seven’s finger along the nape of her neck—a flutter of eyelashes and hitched breath and an arch of her back that begged for more—was enough to make her dizzy. 

Seven pulled back just enough to speak, foreheads still pressed together. “I missed you.”

Janeway’s laugh was helplessly breathless, her smile as wide as could be. “I missed you, too,” she murmured, a gravelly rumble that tugged hard at something low and hidden in the pit of Seven’s stomach. 

Though acutely aware of her desire, the wish to feel Kathryn in her arms softened the edge of Seven’s need to consume her entirely. She slowly reclined on the couch, looping an arm around to land a hand solidly at the small of Kathryn’s back. Her pull didn’t have much impetus to it, but it didn’t have to; Kathryn spilled all over her, an arm tangled between them and Kathryn’s thigh slotting neatly between hers. Kathryn’s slight weight came to rest atop her while she gazed down at Seven, the look in her dark blue eyes hooded and intent. 

Without breaking eye contact, Seven’s palm found the hem of Janeway’s shirt and hiked it up out of the way so she could spread her fingers over the skin of Kathryn’s back. The touch made Kathryn’s hips buck forward, erratic, like she’d suffered an electric shock. Seven throbbed pleasantly at the friction from the thrust of Kathryn’s hips against her own, and reveled in the sensation of Kathryn’s body molded to her front. With a groan, Kathryn hid her face in Seven’s hair, tucked just beneath her chin—a clear surrender. Seven smiled to herself, beginning to stroke at the plane of Janeway’s back. 

“I like you in this sweater,” Kathryn mumbled inanely against her neck. She smiled wider, glancing at its pattern as she drew a hand up and down Kathryn's spine, fingertips feeling every vertebrae as she skimmed over warm, soft skin. 

“Me too.” 

“Figures you’d steal one of my favorites.” 

“You said I could borrow—” 

A playful nip just beneath her starburst implant preceded Kathryn’s testy retort. “A woman is allowed to mourn the loss of a good sweater when someone else comes along and wears it as perfectly as you do, alright?”

Rather than answer, Seven sought out her lips again, amazed at the way their mouths fit together so exquisitely. She felt the heat begin to rise again, unfolding up the curl of her spine, tingling at the base of her skull. 

Sensing the shift in Seven’s grasp from unhurried to intentional, Kathryn tried to disentangle herself, valiantly attempting to quash the desire in her voice. “We could—dinner. I thought we could have shepherd’s pie.” 

The answer was paired with an intent, penetrating look. “I’m not hungry for dinner.” 

Kathryn’s jaw hung slack for a moment, a flush crawling up her neck. Then she shook her head lightly before her features drew down seriously, her words soberly deliberate. “I don’t want you to feel as if you need to push yourself to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Kathryn protested. “I’m perfectly happy—” 

Seven wrapped both her arms around Kathryn, one hand palming a handful of buttocks firmly. She tipped her head in close to Kathryn’s, looking her in the eye to say, “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t feel comfortable, Kathryn.” The hopeful twitch to Janeway’s eyebrows made her smile. 

“You always seem to know when I’m not being honest, even when I don’t. And,” she said, smile sharpening to a smirk as she leaned in to murmur against Kathryn’s lips, “I intend to make you much, much happier than just this.”

At that, she lifted the leg situated between Kathryn’s thighs and flexed, feeling smug at the shameless roll of hips it elicited. She gripped the modest globe of flesh beneath her palm, pulling Kathryn firmly against another purposeful press from her thigh. “I had also intended to take my time with you, preferably in a bed. But if you insist on fighting me then it appears I’ll have to remind you exactly how futile resistance is.”

Kathryn stared, speechless, for approximately four full seconds, a blush rising visibly on her cheeks. Then, with one lazy tilt of her head and a dark glint in her eye, she pounced on Seven, kissing her as if intending to devour her whole. Tongue and teeth and those elegant fingers fisting in her shirt stole the air out of Seven’s chest, until she was struggling for breath beneath a half-lidded gaze and eminently smug smirk. 

“That won't be necessary just yet,” Kathryn purred. “But why don’t we put a pin in that thought for later, hm? C’mere.” Janeway slid to her feet and took Seven’s hand, lacing their fingers together. She led them back to the bedroom Seven had been in this morning. _But that means this is_ —

“You let me use your personal suite? ...I should have known when you suggested the steam options.”

“Probably the best feature in the house.”

“Which I suspect has never been utilized to its full potential,” she remarked, filing several intriguing thoughts away for the future. Perhaps the near future, judging by Kathryn's stumble and the tips of her ears turning pink. 

It belatedly occurred to Seven that she was somewhat unprepared for this. She had not fully considered what might happen after that first kiss, and what followed on instinct. She certainly hadn’t planned on unburdening herself about Bjayzel—although, all things considered, maybe she had. Maybe that had been the objective in the back of her mind from the moment she climbed into the corsair’s cockpit and set a course for Earth. It had only taken a few swift commands and one Borg decryption algorithm to bypass standard Starfleet privacy encoding to find out where Kathryn was, and she’d done it without hesitation. Come here, without invitation. And been welcomed warmly, without question. 

_But it isn’t like this would be the first time my subconscious took charge and drove me toward a resolution I didn’t know I needed, now is it?_

So, not having contemplated the reality of having Kathryn Janeway in her arms, much less a Kathryn who was busy disrobing them both, layer by layer, Seven found herself at the mercy of softly spoken queries of “can I?” and “let me?” that she could only nod agreement to. (The questions themselves, preceding every move Janeway made, were a promise that Seven was in control, free to exercise agency at any moment; and even as her body hummed a constant, enthusiastic _yes_ , the knowledge that Kathryn had always kept her word eased surprisingly fragile nerves with a rush of tenderness.)

Seven’s pulse raced at the sight of Kathryn’s legs kicking off her pants, so much so that she barely noticed the borrowed sweater being tugged gently over her head. Swimming in desire and ill-equipped to manage it, her confidence faltered, even as Kathryn guided them both along toward their destination. 

She followed a half-dressed Janeway onto the bed, crawling until she was braced over her on all fours. Seven was absently aware that Kathryn was speaking but found herself driven to distraction by the denim shirt still hanging off one shoulder and the way Kathryn’s nails dragged slowly down her back, goosebumps rising in their wake. She leaned down to nuzzle just behind her right ear, and as if on cue, Kathryn’s pulse took off again, her back arching invitingly just as before.

“Annika,” Kathryn breathed, caught between a moan and a gasp, and the sound of it brought Seven to stillness. 

In a moment Kathryn’s touch softened to palms smoothing over shoulder blades, attentive concern bleeding into her voice when she paused to ask, “Annika?”

She let herself down until their bodies were molded together, weight braced on her forearms and her lips still hovering against the pulse fluttering in Kathryn’s neck, mind racing to solve the problem of why her name suddenly sounded so foreign on Kathryn’s lips. 

_‘Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.’_

“Annika, what’s wrong?”

She closed her eyes, determined to grasp the truth fluttering just out of reach, groping for the recited words of a fresh memory that felt as inevitable and permanent as all the ones that had brought her here, chasing her inner compass to its due north.

_‘Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination.’_

(Because—Kathryn knew before Seven did that she was having a panic attack; she stopped, she _waited_. When Seven unburdened herself, instead of condemning her actions, Kathryn’s venom didn’t just sound as fierce as her own, it _was_. The world offered imagination, but what Seven had was pure fact: a declaration, in both deed and word, that every last inch of herself that Kathryn could see so effortlessly would never be used against her.) 

_‘Calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—’_

“Jay taunted me, right up until the end,” Seven finally said, still hiding her face against Kathryn’s shoulder. “She flaunted the name my parents gave me just to hurt me. That’s why I wanted you to say it. It always sounds better when you say it.” 

_‘—over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’_

Her eyes fluttered open as she lifted her head and met Kathryn’s gaze with her own. “But it isn’t my name. Say my name, Kathryn.” 

Janeway smiled, so tender and fond it suffused the very timbre of her voice. 

“Seven.” 

What tension remained in her body ebbed away. “Say it again.” 

“Seven,” Kathryn said, huskier this time. 

“Again,” she said, watching something change behind those blue eyes, even as Kathryn struggled to finish unbuttoning her shirt and toss it aside. 

“ _Seven_.” Her voice now was little more than a rumble, low and deep with hunger and want.

It felt like the way her leather jacket did pulled on and settled across her shoulders. It felt like the fleeting, gratifying moments of relief and gratitude on a stranger’s face when she managed to save them from the brink of destruction and put them back on solid ground. It felt _right_. 

(Because— _I'm not Annika. I’m Seven._ And while she needed that name cleansed, she didn't need it to hang around. It just needed to be wrapped in a voice she could trust, so if and when she heard it again she wouldn’t have to shudder at it or grimace and put it away. Kathryn had always been a safe place to hide. A shame she’d forgotten that for so long.) 

Kathryn shifted, restless beneath her, all long swaths of hot, flushed skin, shirtless and—freckled. Seven melted at the constellations dusting her skin from shoulder to shoulder, and the faint blush beneath them. She tilted her head against Kathryn's neck, smiling as she drew a finger down over the dip of her throat, detouring to her collarbone and then south, over her sternum. “I have waited a long time for this.” 

“Me too,” Kathryn croaked. 

Still her fingertips trailed further, marveling at soft skin and the way she could reduce this brilliant, indomitable woman to breathlessness with one simple touch. Kathryn’s hand tightened on her shoulder when Seven nipped at her throat, thighs parting beneath, and lightness overtook her. But it wasn’t until she heard Kathryn murmur her name like a mantra, a chorus, a prayer that understanding dawned: she was always safest at Kathryn's side. 

How had she never seen it before? She had traveled halfway across the galaxy, encountered thousands of beings from hundreds of planets across innumerable lightyears, and still Kathryn was the most beautiful individual— _individual, singular and incomparable_ —Seven had ever met. Even more than that, she knew with absolute certainty that what they shared was precious, and sacred, and inviolable. She was ready to worship Kathryn—and Kathryn was ready to let her. 

_Finally_. 

Eventually, they slept, and Seven woke to find Kathryn lying beside her, simply gazing at her in the dim morning light. Slow, sleep-muddled glances and smiles became a tangle of limbs and prolonged kisses, which became roving hands and renewed vigor that rendered Seven limp with pleasure. She was too spent to contest the self-satisfied grin on Kathryn’s face, which persisted as they roused and tidied the mess of clothes they had left littered around the bed. 

Seven remained placidly agreeable throughout their morning of waking, and breakfast, and enjoying steam setting number two, together, for the better part of an hour. Afterward, Seven’s knees and jaw were sore, but Kathryn blushed every time Seven licked her lips, so she considered it time exceptionally well spent (and concluded that the hydro shower was, indeed, the best feature in the house). 

One short walk with Shannon around the grounds—and a brief, but nonetheless impressive holo-frisbee demonstration—later, Kathryn was fiddling at the replicator for more coffee when Seven heard an unmistakable beeping, muffled but insistent, that drew her back into the bedroom. Folded in the drawers alongside her new favorite sweater, she dug out the holocomm chip from her pants pocket, pulsing with coordinates from its mate. 

“Shit,” Seven whispered, shoulders drooping as the weight of the world came crashing back down upon her. She tapped the device into silence and stared at it in her palm, furious at the universe for asserting its demands on her now, of all times. Seven wondered idly whether Jean-Luc was literally trying to kill her with his bullshit timing. _Again_. 

She allowed herself a sigh before crossing the residence to retrieve her boots and jacket, quietly cursing the crew of _La Sirena_ and her doomed mission with every step. Seven further allowed herself a long, indulgent look at Kathryn, bent over a dew-dampened Shannon in the kitchen with a towel, coffee mug steaming on the replicator shelf. She was not prepared for the lump that rose in her throat while she watched, nor the pang of affection that pierced her chest when the dog gently touched her snout to Kathryn’s nose, but she committed every inch of the sight to memory. 

Seven returned to the bedroom to exchange the well-worn Starfleet athletic apparel Kathryn had given her after their shower for her rugged combat pants and sleeveless shirt, feeling as if she were slipping back into uniform after shore leave. At the sound of a cleared throat, she looked up to find Kathryn watching her from the doorway, a wry smile curling the corner of her mouth. 

"Got a hot date you forgot about?"

She shook her head, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull her socks up over her ankles. "Picard's out on the edge of the galaxy doing something supremely ill-advised, insanely dangerous, and honestly just fucking stupid."  
  
"Picard? As in Jean-Luc?"  
  
Seven grunted, struggling to yank on a boot. "Is there another vaunted ex-Admiral traipsing about on a Romulan-covered Borg cube I should be concerned about?"  
  
Kathryn's eyebrows crawled for her hairline. "You're going to The Artifact?! What the hell is he doing all the way out there?"  
  
"An excellent question, Kathryn," she said, stomping into her other boot and zipping it up her calf.  
  
Kathryn drifted into the room, depositing her coffee mug on the dresser next to the blinking device. "Here's a better one: why are you going to help him?"

Seven found Kathryn standing before her, worry knit into every line on her face. She sighed again and lifted her hands. Kathryn approached instantly at the invitation and stepped between her legs, letting Seven hug her close. She leaned her forehead against Kathryn’s stomach, arms looped around narrow hips and Kathryn's hands smoothing over her bared biceps to her shoulders. Seven wished she didn’t have to put on her shirt and go. She wished she could stay, and let someone else fight that battle. But she couldn't.  
  
"Because someone very important to me taught me a long time ago that if someone needs your help, you have to at least make the attempt. When they ask, you must always try." She tipped her head back to look at Kathryn, a resigned smile on her lips. "I would not want to disappoint her."

A tender look matched the soft half-smile on Kathryn's face, matched the way she tucked a lock of wavy hair behind Seven's ear and traced the edge of her ocular implant with a single fingertip. "You won't."

Kathryn shifted as if to step out of the embrace and Seven found that she was not ready to let her go, just yet. Her arms tightened around Kathryn, who smiled wider and stopped resisting, apparently content to simply cup Seven’s chin in her hand and drop a kiss to her forehead. Seven closed her eyes, savoring the peaceful quiet of their hug for another minute longer, letting Kathryn run those long, elegant fingers through her hair. 

“Come on,” Kathryn said softly, patting her shoulder, “let’s get you dressed.” Seven reluctantly loosened her grasp, and Kathryn turned for the dresser behind her, taking the blue sweater out of the open drawer. But when she turned, Seven was already pulling her own jumper over her head.

Kathryn opened her mouth to protest, but Seven cut her off. “Despite your claim last night, I’m no thief, Kathryn.” Janeway’s mouth twisted in a poor attempt at hiding a smile as she dropped her eyes to the wool garment in her hands. 

“Fine,” she said, putting her arms through the sleeves and pulling it on herself. “But I still think it looks better on you.” 

Seven lifted an eyebrow and let her eyes trail up Kathryn’s body. Her tongue wet her lips as her gaze traced the curved outlines of Janeway’s arms and stomach and breasts beneath the material. She smiled when her eyes met Kathryn’s, which had never seemed quite so strikingly blue as they did now, offset by both the sweater and the pink flush on her cheeks. “On that point I believe we may permanently disagree.” 

Kathryn’s retort was merely a chuckle and a shake of the head before she picked up the leather jacket from the bed and held it up, a nodded head the silent instruction for Seven to turn around. She put her arms into the sleeves and felt Janeway lift it smoothly into place, palms sliding down either side of her spine until her hands curled along Seven’s hips.

“You know, it isn’t nearly as enjoyable to put clothes on you as it is taking them off, but I have to admit, this look really suits you.” Seven glanced back over her shoulder as Kathryn reached up to free her hair from the collar, and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck before she stepped back, eyes drifting down her back. “Really, really suits you, in fact.” 

It was Seven’s turn to blush, heat tingling along the back of her neck where Kathryn’s lips had felt like a brand on her skin. 

“Thank you,” she managed, tamping down warmth she would much rather attend to than a Fenris SOS. She pocketed the comm chip from the dresser and picked up Kathryn’s abandoned mug, peering into it dubiously. “Your coffee’s cold. I’ll get you a fresh cup?” 

“Please,” Kathryn said. “I’ll put on some shoes and meet you at the door. Unless you’re planning on beaming out of here without warning, much like your unexpected arrival?” 

Seven shot her a fond look before heading for the kitchen. “Keep that up and I just might.” 

Kathryn’s laugh followed her out the door.

For once, Seven loathed efficiency, because all too soon they stood in the yard a few meters from the corsair, a salty breeze rippling the grass beneath their feet. Shannon sat faithfully by Kathryn’s side, intelligent brown eyes fixed on Seven when she glanced down at the resolute little dog. She knelt to bring both hands to Shannon’s head, petting her silky fur and rubbing a hand over the freckled snout one last time, grateful that Kathryn had found such a loyal, steadfast companion. 

Seven stood slowly, at a loss as to what to say, how to even begin this goodbye. But the moment she opened her mouth to try, Kathryn saved her the trouble, launching herself into Seven’s arms. The kiss began chaste, merged into a series of gentle pecks, and ended with Kathryn's double-fisted grip on the lapels of her leather jacket and a steely-eyed look. 

"When you come back I expect to hear _the whole story_ this time, understood?"  
  
Seven nodded, smiling a little, certain that Kathryn would get the whole story out of her regardless of her efforts, though she had resolved to simply tell her everything. She had survived so long— _too long_ —without Kathryn’s confidence, and yet it took no time at all to lean fully into it once again. "Yes, Kathryn."  
  
"Don't get yourself killed out there."  
  
"Yes, Kathryn."  
  
"Give Jean-Luc my best. _After_ you tell him he owes me a case of Chateau Picard's Cabernet Sauvignon for this. The ‘81, not the ‘84."  
  
She could not help a smirk when she replied, "He already owes me a ship, maybe we shouldn’t add to his tab. Besides, without him, I would not have come here. Ostensibly, we are the ones in his debt, are we not?"  
  
Kathryn paused for only a moment before she growled, "Oh, fuck that," and dragged her down into a deep, thorough, ardent kiss. Seven instantly felt desire bloom, every inch of her skin flared hot.

Finally Kathryn broke the kiss, but kept their faces close, murmuring softly. "Promise me you'll come back."  
  
Seven ached at the sound of it, and pressed a kiss to Kathryn's temple, staring out at the churning ocean beneath the cliffside behind her. "You know better than anyone how impossible it is to promise that."  
  
"Well, someone very important to _me_ taught me a long time ago that impossible is a word humans use far too often." She leaned back to meet Kathryn's eyes and found a smirk on her face, one of her hands pressed to Seven's chest over her heart. Janeway glanced down, running a thumb over the green knit sweater Seven had shown up in, then lifted her hand, straightening the Starfleet combadge she'd pinned just a touch. "And she's been right more times than I care to admit."

She lifted a hand, curling her metal tipped fingers around Kathryn's. "Kathryn—" but Janeway lifted to her toes and pressed another kiss to Seven's lips to preempt her.  
  
"Even a Ranger needs help sometimes. I know a guy with a face tattoo who's pretty good at dog sitting. And there could always be another vaunted ex-Admiral traipsing about on a Romulan-covered Borg cube for you to be concerned about, alright?"  
  
Kathryn's smile was infectious, and Seven could not keep one off her face even as she kissed the palm of the hand she held.  
  
"One of you is bad enough. The last thing I need is the two of you together, making speeches and rallying troops," she scoffed. "You might actually give somebody out there a scrap of—"  
  
She blinked, then shook her head as she huffed out a wry little laugh. 

_You always could make me feel things I was certain I'd lost, couldn't you?_ _  
_  
"Of...?" Kathryn prompted, still wrapped in Seven's embrace. Seven gave her a soft squeeze and a firm kiss, pouring herself into it, willing Kathryn to understand it as an unspoken vow.  
  
"I'll tell you when I come home."

At the word ‘home’ the look on Kathryn's face transformed into something so aglow with love it was almost incandescent. But all she said was, "You'd better."  
  
"I will."

“And try not to take out half my garden next time, darling. The potatoes are probably fine but I don’t think the kale is going to bounce back.” Seven glanced back at her ship, landed precariously close to a small greenhouse, where a landing strut seemed to have crushed several rows of neatly planted vegetation underfoot. 

“Sorry,” Seven said, bemused at her own haphazard landing. 

“Really in a hurry, weren’t you? So eager to see me again?” Kathryn quipped, a faint amusement in her eye. But Seven shook her head, brow furrowing slightly, because _that’s not the right word for it_ , she thought. 

“Not eager… driven.” She frowned, thinking on the powerful, unrelenting impulse that had dominated her consciousness so thoroughly, a parallel to a similar journey long past. It was an urge she could not deny, as strong as any resonance signal she had ever felt—an almost identical compulsion, in fact. Then Seven looked at Kathryn and realized just how many of her traumas had been allayed in her presence, how much lighter she felt with this woman solidly in her arms. 

“I hardly remember arriving here, or why I felt so strongly that I had to, beyond knowing, somehow, that I must,” she said slowly, still puzzling over the feeling even as she tried to voice it aloud. “Not unlike migrating birds, perhaps. Just a blind, unerring instinct to return to you… like following a homing beacon to its source.”

Kathryn’s eyes glittered, bright with sudden, unshed tears. “I’m very, very glad you did.”

“So am I, even if it felt like I had little choice in the matter,” Seven said, smiling softly. She lifted a hand to Janeway’s cheek, brushing it gently with her thumb. “It seems that I cannot run from my past no matter how hard I try. But at least now I know who to run to.” 

Seven stole one last kiss and then turned for her ship, the corsair's engines starting at her approach. She slotted the chip into the navigation panel and locked onto the distress beacon's coordinates, taking off without allowing herself even one look back.  
  
Of course she had no way of knowing if flying to Picard's aid was a suicide mission or not. Synth conspiracies, Romulans, and a Borg cube did not fortuitous odds make, galaxy in the balance be damned. But as Seven jumped to warp, grim determination on her face, she felt the return of a stubborn, once-familiar sentiment she had been missing for years: 

_Hope._


End file.
